


Pretty Boy

by skepticallysighing



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Depression, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Revenge, Trippy, Unhealthy Relationships, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticallysighing/pseuds/skepticallysighing
Summary: He wasn't anyone's bitch. He obeyed Henry, but that's because he was Henry's second-in-command, and Henry made him feel happy. Henry made him feel like a sparkling fountain of pure gold...prize. He felt like a prize when he was with Henry. A treasure.And then a fist was rocketing towards his face.





	Pretty Boy

 

He wasn’t weak. He could throw a baseball farther and harder and better than anyone. He had half the school scattering at the sight of him, just from reputation. He had a glare that could spoil milk and shatter glass.

So why was he being forced to cower against the gym lockers?

He wasn’t anyone’s bitch. He obeyed Henry, but that’s because he was Henry’s second-in-command, and Henry made him feel happy. Henry made him feel like a sparkling fountain of pure gold. Bitch was the last word that could ever even _begin_ to describe what ran through his mind when he thought of Henry.

Prize. He felt like a prize when he was with Henry. A treasure.

And then a fist was rocketing towards his face. 

He hit the ground with a sharp groan. He spat on the ground as he looked up, glaring daggers at the boy before him but not daring to try to return to his feet. He could just imagine what it would be like later on when Henry found him.

_The boy before him was a stranger. He had a face and a name, Steve, right? and a life. But all that Vic could see was his own..._

_This is what it would be like if they found out what was wrong wi_

_(sick sick sick, get it out, please, **pretty** pl)_

_th him, right? He had stopped listening to his bully’s taunts, but now he allowed himself to tune in, listening over his pounding heart and his throbbing cheek._

“...tle fag. You get down like this a lot, with Bowers? You probably like it. Jesus please-us, bet you'd suck me if I told you you were pretty, you little slut!"

_The words seemed so biting, so horrible. Why would anyone say something like that? Why would anyone hurt someone like that? There was no pleasure to this, Henry wasn’t here, where was Henry?_

“So fucking tiny too."

_(I could stuff you in a locker, you know that? Cover up the holes and let you suffocate in there. No one would ever find you, you’d starve to death.)_

_Was it even Steve who was talking to him? Was Steven saying that? For some reason he wasn’t sure if he was listening to this guy talk to him, or if he was remembering something Patrick had told him in a fleshed out nightmare. Something he had dreamed about a very long time ago and woken up clammy and shaking._

_(Trap you in, **pretty** **boy** , you’ll fit right in! You’re so fucking /tiny/, you look just like)_

_“Look at you, cocksucker, look at-” and there were hands on his hips, and the words blurred out. Narrow. He was so narrow, not as broad as a man should be. But that was fine, Henry liked skinny blondes, right?_

_No, wait, no._

_Why did he bleach his hair? Why did he care so much about his appearance? He wasn’t a fucking fag._

_He /wasn’t/._

**_(Prettiest, the very prettiest)_**

_When had he been handled to his feet again, turned around and pinned face first against the locker, he realised there were tears streaming down his face. How many people were watching? How many people were surrounding them and watching as he struggled and he sobbed and he gave up?_

_(You’re such a **pretty boy** )_

_And then suddenly he had been let go of. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, he felt he must’ve been in a dream. His eyes were hazed and he clung to the locker he'd been pinned too, afraid if he let go he’d fall._

_Someone touched his shoulder, and he whimpered and tried to flinch away, clinging._

"Vic-"

_Belch._

And Belch was turning him around and wrapping an arm around him, eyes wide and touching him.

“Vic, fuck, Vic, are you alright?” Belch demanded, eyes huge, but Vic’s eyes strayed to the right, where Patrick had some bystander pinned against the wall, threatening him lowly and punching him in the chest at the ribs. Violence wasn’t any good without Henry. Violence was nothing unless Henry was there to enjoy it with him.

Vic let out a strangled sob.

_( **Pretty boy** )_

“Patrick, hey-” Belch kept Vic close, turning around, his voice shaking. Neither of the two were leaders, and Patrick was truly a rogue creature. “Patrick, stop it, you’re scaring him!”

God, he was such a crybaby. Did he really look scared? Why was he crying?

And Patrick pulled off the guy, who slumped to the ground unconscious

_(or maybe dead)_

, and instead focused on Vic. That wasn’t the face of horror that haunted Vic’s dreams. That was Patrick. Patrick the lanky and dorky and pyromaniacal asshole he was. And Patrick had returned to them, still grinning in his weird way.

“Henry’s gonna flip his shit,” Patrick said happily, with the enthusiasm of a boy announcing school had been cancelled.

Vic didn't say anything, but he was vaguely aware of Belch holding him as they returned to the car, and of Patrick talking about splintering someone's ribs.

 

 

 

They ditched and took him home. Belch dropped him off at the door, making sure he was alright before he rushed away. Something about a car, or maybe a chick. Patrick stayed long enough to make sure Vic wasn't gonna bleed out his pain. Whether Patrick would've stopped him or watched him with lustful eyes, Vic didn't care to know, but when it was clear he wasn't gonna do anything, Patrick left, and Vic had made himself at peace.

_He had a sickly grey bruise that was disgusting to look at right above his eye._

He had gotten a cup of herbal tea, put on “The Goonies”, and redressed in his mom’s fluffy white robe. He had been waiting with dread to see what Henry had done, what Henry would do. He just knew Henry was going to be pissed at him for being so weak.

So it was a surprise when Henry came in through the open bedroom window

(fucking Patrick, did he forget to close the window after he jumped out?)

, plopping on his bed. Without a hello, he held up his heavily bruised knuckles. Vic felt his stomach clench when he saw the way blood had welled up at the bone.

“Wrap me, Vic,” he said without looking up.

Vic looked at him, not even bothered by the break in, staring big eyed at his knuckles.

“You’re bleeding.”

“No shit, care to go on? I said wrap me.”

Vic smiled for only a second.

He quickly grabbed the first-aid kit under his desk, he was the one in charge of the necessary care, pulling out cleaning wipes and sitting down beside him. He could’ve easily sat in his lap, his bony legs would easily be held up by the thick muscle of Henry’s thighs, but he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he took one of the stronger hands, gently dabbing at it.

Henry hissed.

“Stay still."

Henry nodded.

Dab. Spread. Bandage. Wrap, wrap, wrap.

He did the next hand.

“You didn't need to do this,” Vic said softly, looking up at Henry. "I don't really care."

That was a lie.

He loved it. He loved it when Henry committed the worst acts of violence and pain, for /him/.

Henry growled and flexed his fingers, pulling them away after Vic kissed the bandaged knuckles kindly. “Well, he won’t touch you again,” he returned.

Vic fell sideways in his own bed, watching him, eyes soft. “You don’t beat up people who pick on Patrick.”

“Bullshit. No one's stupid enough to pick of Hockstetter." He had laid down beside him. It was routine by now.

“Yeah? Why me, then?” Vic knew the answer, but he loved nothing more than to hear it.

And Henry smiled a bit, pushing his hair out of his face, grazing the bruise.

_He had a **pretty** grey bruise that was lovely to look at right above his eye._

"All the girls are jealous that I've already got a little blonde, so they'll send their stud boyfriends to beat you up," Henry teased. "Anyways. You're so

(sick)

**pretty**."

_And they were warm and close together and Henry was here and everything was good and the world was right._

"Mm. **Pretty boy**."

_And Vic felt his heart soar._  
  
---  
  
**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @skepticallysighing


End file.
